


Orbiting A Black Sun

by Nope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-31
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25785253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: Remus, Severus, Harry and the aftermath of death.
Kudos: 1





	Orbiting A Black Sun

Remus hates Harry.

He hates the boy's listless gaze. Hates those sea-smoothed bottleglass eyes, empty and wet. Hates the way Harry lurches from point to point around the house, aimless, a parody of drunken stumbling. Hates the way Harry jumps or shakes or barks when people get too close. Hates the way Harry looks just enough like Him for the differences to be disconcerting. Hates the way Harry looks like all his friends. Looks like Lily and James and. All his dead friends.

Hates that Harry didn't let them kill Peter.

Sometimes Remus wants to leave, to go out the front door and just keep going and never stop, never look back, never think about everything he's left behind. Sometimes Remus wants to grab Harry, shake him, slap him, to punch and kick and scream. Sometimes he wants to say wake up you little shit He died for you so you bloody live for a change.

Sometimes he wants to say you don't get to mourn. You only lost Him once. I lost Him over and over and you think it hurts but you'll never know what real pain is until you get Him back only to have everything taken away again and, yes, actually, it is all your fault, you, just you, everything is your fault, why couldn't you have just died and then we'd all be dead and we'd be together and this would be over and--

And sometimes he wants Harry to fight back. Sometimes he wants to be shoved down like he used to be, when the moon was heavy and the itch upon him. Sometimes he wants to be scratched and clawed and bitten, wants to be filled till it burns. Sometimes he wants to be slammed into over and over and over until there's nothing left but the heat and the pain and pleasure of it. Sometimes he wants everything wiped away in a slick thrust of fingers, erased by relentless pounding motion. Sometimes.

Remus hates Harry.

#

He brings the knife down to the beats of his heart. Boom. Cut. Boom. Cut. Boom. Four drops of water added at thirteen and a half second intervals while stirring counter-clockwise with a glass rod. Two shrivelfigs aligned north-south lengthways and cut into neat quarter-of-an-inch cubes with a silver blade held in the left hand. A pewter cauldron with brass handles, exactly one-and-three-quarter-inches thick on all sides turned seven times over a rowan-and-apple wood fire. A comment about a father's arrogance spoken to an enraged son. Precision. Calculation. Timing. He brings the knife down to the beats of his heart.

He brings the knife down. (A brandished wand and Harry goes down on his knees.) The knife slices through roots. (A few choice words and Harry starts and yells, cheeks coloured in anger.) He shoves the point in. (Harry whimpers, falling back.) He puts his weight behind the blade, leaving marks in the board. Harry crying out under his words, his wands, his fingers. He slams the knife down. Not Harry, James, James down before him, twitching, gasping, tears in his eyes. Slams it down. All of them there, screaming and moaning and writhing before him, HarryJames, Remus, Him, of course Him, not lost to his revenge but here, suffering, knowing they've lost. He brings the knife down.

He brings the knife. He brings. He swipes an arm across the desk and shredded wolfsbane scatters across the floor like rain as he kicks over the cauldron yelling wordlessly and shoves the desk hard enough for it to come up onto two legs and dumps books and bottles and glass smashes on stone and desk booms loud and hollow as it slams back down and he pants and curses and sags, and sighs, and rubs at his face. Straightens up. Breathes in. Breathes out. In. Out. Straightens the room with a few sharp flicks of his wand. Picks up the knife. Cleans, buffs and sharpens the edge. And brings it down.

Cut. Boom. Cut.

#

Little bits of broken mirror. That's what it is. All around him. Jagged world. Harry feels cut off. Cut on. Bits of broken mirror. Every step, a sharpness, a dull weight. New scars. Can't see them but. Scars. Can't quite. Focus. Grey haze daze days Grimmauld Place is a tomb, he thinks, but the dead are still walking around. I'm still walking. Harry feeds Buckbeak. Buckbeak who whines. Buckbeak who slumps on the empty bed and Harry has to leave quickly and go downstairs and sit at the table and. And. And something. Some thing.

And Harry can feel it. Some unnamed it, just... gathering. Building up to. He can't. He doesn't know, but. Something. He can feel-- He can feel it coming. Just over the horizon. The edge.

He bounces. Between them. Slow ricochet. Snape, sharp, angry, loud. Remus, soft, sad, silent. Pushing and pulling and. Off Snape and into Remus. Off Remus and back into Snape. Remus's hand, messing his hair, gentle tug. Snape shoving him down, hard down, fast. Remus, eyes wet, almost whimpering, loosing a small sob when Harry touches him. Snape, teeth grit, almost growling and pushing, pushing, pushing, full weight bearing down on him. Each filling the holes the other leaves behind. Pushing, pulling. Rebounding, from one to the other to the other. Can't stop. Can't stand still.

And Harry can taste it. Bitter at the back of his throat. And... something in the air. Greasy. Thick against his skin. Heavy on him, and in him. Breathing is hard. It's hard now.

They jar. They rub against each. Shifting and sliding. Catching. Friction. Things not quite fitting together, pushing until they slip a little. Catching. Snape. And Remus. And Harry. Moving around each other. With each other. Moving each other. Slip. Slide. Pull. Push. And the weight gets heavier and the points get sharper and sooner or later...

Sooner or later, he knows, one of them will say His name. And then it will all end. Boom.

#

(Sirius)


End file.
